


What If Communication Was a Thing

by flowersforflorence



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Way too much swearing I'm sorry, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 21:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18060500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforflorence/pseuds/flowersforflorence
Summary: Robby has hated Miguel since he first lay eyes on him, and nothing could change that.Could it?Featuring a very pissed off Robby, a beach, and some drunken shenanigans.





	What If Communication Was a Thing

**Author's Note:**

> First fic I’ve ever written! Set just after the whole beach fight scene disaster.  
> I never really got around to rewatching the whole show before I wrote this, so hopefully the timeline matches up and it’s not too OOC.  
> TW: mild anxiety and anxiety attack described.

Robby watched as Sam slammed the car door and started the engine, not even waiting for him to get in before she pulled out of the car park, leaving him behind in a literal cloud of dust. 

Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck teenage girls. And especially fuck angry gangly drunk dudes. Honestly Robby decides to have fun _one_ time and this is what happens? He groaned as he turned to see Drunk Asshole stumbling over the top of the sand bank, still looking pissed.

“She’s gone,” he spat. “Thanks a lot.”

Robby watched the bitterness and anger drain from Drunk Asshole’s face like water from a bathtub. His shoulders slumped and he rubbed tiredly at his face, hands shaking. 

“Fuck” he muttered, glazed eyes meeting Robby’s. “I didn’t mean... shit, she’s gonna hate me now.” 

_Yeah, no shit._

Robby shifted uncomfortably, trying to figure out the best way to escape this conversation. Maybe he could just turn and run and hope the bloke was drunk enough that he wouldn’t remember he’d ever been there? Not the most elegant of plans, but it had merit. He could even grab a few drinks before he left. At least then he’d get something worthwhile out of tonight.

He was snapped out of his musings by Drunk Asshole sinking to the ground, arms wrapped around his knees, his shaky breaths audible even over the distant sounds of the party. Ahh screw this. Why did Robby always get himself into such dumbass situations? Honestly, he didn’t blame Sam for legging it at the first given opportunity. He was now stuck in the aftermath of both a fight and a breakup and _god_ he had absolutely no idea what to do. He missed his days of being an insensitive asshole who solved his problems by stealing shit. He waited a few seconds, considering his options. He could just leave. Maybe order a pizza. Hope to never see this guy again. Or he could be nice. And help the wanker who literally tried to attack him five minutes ago. He better get some good karma out of this. 

Tentatively he stepped forwards, hoping that this wasn’t going to result in him getting punched. It would probably be considered rude to get into a fight with someone in the middle of an anxiety attack. Up close, Drunk Asshole didn’t look so threatening. Without his anger he seemed kind of… small. 

The sound of the boy’s distressed breathing broke through Robby’s thoughts, jerking him back to his younger years. That period of time when he’d realised that it wasn’t normal for your mom to spend the whole day in bed, smelling of cigarettes and gin, and the other kids had all decided that his long hair and effeminate features marked him as a freak. He recalled the isolation he’d felt, the fear that his mother didn’t care about him, that he’d done something wrong to make her like this. That he was _broken_. In his dark room he would let himself spiral, drowning in these thoughts until he couldn’t breathe, his lungs starving and his body frozen. With trembling hands he’d sit and just wait until it passed, until his lungs could finally fill with air again. And though he’d gotten strong enough that the other kids didn’t fuck with him and old enough to know that he wasn’t to blame, he still remembered the panic and aching loneliness that had haunted him. 

It was largely because of this that he finally knelt in front of the hunched figure. Taking a breath, he reached out, bracing himself for retaliation as he hesitantly touched the other boy’s shoulder. When he didn’t recoil or protest, Robby shifted closer, hoping that the physical contact would provide some sort of comfort. He remembered he’d read once that counting could distract someone from an anxiety attack and help them breathe normally. 

“Hey,” he whispered, nudging the drunk boy’s knee, “I need you to look at me, and focus on breathing.”

The boy had surprisingly long eyelashes, casting shadows over his panicked eyes. 

Robby started counting aloud, feeling like an idiot and hoping to god this would actually work. After after a few seconds the boy started counting along, his voice unsteady and choked. At first Robby was sure that he’d made a mistake, but after a while, the boy’s breathing slowed and he rested his head back on his knees. Robby rocked backwards on his heels, unsure what to do next. It came back to him in a sudden flash that he’d just helped Sam’s boyfriend, the person who Robby had more reason to hate than pretty much anyone else. 

“Thanks.”

He almost missed the soft word, but looked up in surprise to see Still-Drunk-But-Now-Just-Sort-of-Pathetic Asshole watching him warily. Robby grunted in reply, vaguely worried that now he’d stopped freaking out, Drunk Boy might try to fight him again. 

Instead, he just stumbled to his feet and started to make his way back down the hill, leaving Robby by himself in the middle of a car park, feeling drained and sandy and ready to head home and wash his hands of this shit. He looked around and was hit with the sudden, agonising realisation that his skateboard had been in the car. The same car that Sam had just driven off in in a fit of rage. Fuck. With a groan, he stood and brushed himself off, deciding that he’d rather follow drunk assholes than sit around feeling sorry for himself. He didn’t even want to think how he was going to get home. He didn’t have his wallet and even if he did, he didn’t have the money to spare for a cab. Mourning the loss of his board, he made his way back down to the beach. 

He expected to see the other boy re-joining the party and finding someone else to fight, but after scanning the crowd he was surprised to spot him down by the waves’ edge. Guess some idiots liked to follow up drunken freak outs with a little dip in the ocean. Wonderful. Seriously questioning his sanity, he strode across the sand towards the dark figure.

“Oi! I just sat around for like ten minutes while you cried on the ground, so if you’re trying to drown yourself I reckon that’s a little ungrateful.”

Drunk Asshole only splashed in response.

With a shrug, Robby dropped to the ground and started easing his shoes off. When he glanced up he saw the boy stumbling out of the waves, shaking his wet hair like a dog. To Robby’s surprise, he flopped down next to him and turned to stare curiously. 

“Why are you still here?” 

Robby had no idea how to answer the boy’s question, considering that it wasn’t something he was quite sure of himself. He decided honesty was the best policy.

“You seemed like kind of a dick to tell the truth, but I was worried if I left you you might wander off into the sea and never be seen again.” He shrugged. “Not that it would really affect me that much. But I thought Sam might be a bit sad. Maybe.” 

He heard a huff of laughter and turned to see the other boy grinning wryly at him.

“I guess we didn’t quite get off on the right foot,” Drunk Asshole sighed. “I can’t say I’m sorry though. I could see the way you were looking at Sam.” He looked pained. “And the way she was looking at you.”

Robby groaned, exasperated by the asshole’s behaviour. But there was something in the slight tremble of the other boy’s shoulders and the way his hands twitched where they tugged at the hem of his shirt that made Robby reconsider. He’d gotten good at reading behaviour during his time running scams, and he was surprised at the lack of aggression in the other boy’s mannerisms. He seemed... nervous. Something about his earlier breakdown had knocked something loose in the boy, and now he was unstable, threatening to collapse at any given second. Grudgingly, Robby held his hand out.

“Look. Let’s just... start over. I’m Robby.”

The boy seemed to deflate, rubbing his face.

“Miguel.” he mumbled, taking Robby’s hand in his.

Their eyes met and Robby was distracted momentarily by the water dripping from Miguel’s lashes and tracing the curves of his face. He had to fight the strange, unbidden urge to reach out and wipe the droplets away. He frowned, unable to make any sense of these feelings. He barely knew this boy; they weren’t even acquaintances, let alone friends, so what was this confusing pull he felt towards him? With a sudden start he realised that Miguel had asked him a question, and was waiting for an answer. 

“What?” He mumbled foolishly, suddenly glad for the darkness concealing his flushed face.

“You were staring.” 

“Oh.” He floundered for something to say that didn’t involve _Jesus fucking Christ you have really nice cheekbones._ “I - Why the swimming?”

Miguel’s lips pulled up into a faint smile, and he turned to gaze at the waves.

“When I was younger, my mom used to take me to the beach.” His hands were still shaking gently. “I was terrified of the water, so scared that it’d just swallow me whole. But my mom. She took me out with her, right into the deep water. And just lay me down. I remember how calm the water made me feel as I floated there, expanding all around me as I just lay, suspended in the quiet. Sometimes when it all just gets a bit too much, I like to come down here and just… go for a swim, drown out all the chaos.” He rubbed his face and groaned. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I’m too fucking drunk man.” 

Robby wanted to tell Miguel how he had no idea why he was still sitting here, why he hadn’t just gotten up and walked away a long time ago. But there was something nice. Something kind of peaceful just sitting here next to Miguel, watching the moon reflect in the water. The sound of the waves drowned out the music from the party, and for a moment he understood what Miguel was talking about; that endless calm. 

Miguel flopped back onto the sand, his dark hair curling around his head in a halo. He reminded Robby of the little paintings of saints that his aunt used to keep on a shelf in her room, listing off their names in her prayers before she went to bed. Robby had stood and watched her, not understanding such devotion to a higher power, that belief that someone was watching over you, but he’d always been fascinated by the way those saints seemed to be lit within, as if there was a candle burning inside them.

Miguel’s face was cast into shadow, but even in the darkness he seemed to glow softly, the moonlight staining his lashes and cheekbones, marking him as something ethereal and altogether above this world.

“D’you know any constellations?”

The sound of Miguel’s voice drew Robby sharply from his musings and he blushed again, mortified by where his mind had ended up. He grunted in response, desperately trying to make sense of his own mind.

“Shouldn’t you be getting home?” He asked, suddenly dying to be out of Miguel’s company, back home in bed where he could block out this crisis with loud music and pizza.

Miguel hummed, face screwed up in concentration. 

“Don’t remember where I live,” he mumbled. 

Robby groaned and let himself fall back onto the sand. Forget ethereal, this guy was just a plain fucking pain in the ass. It was gonna be a long night, he might as well get comfortable. He ignored the quiet voice in his head that reminded him he could leave whenever he wanted to. For some reason he just couldn’t bring himself to leave Miguel, soaking wet moron that he was, on the beach by himself. 

Maybe it was something to do with the bright smile on Miguel’s face when Robby pointed towards the mass of swirling stirs above them and said, “That’s Pegasus.”

“Like the flying horse?”

“Yeah. The Ancient Greeks had a real thing for weird horses.”

“Huh.” Miguel shuffled closer to Robby, smelling like salt and beer and something sweet. “It doesn’t really look like a horse. Just sort of like… a bunch of shiny blobs.”

Robby huffed a laugh, surprised yet again by Miguel’s mellow nature. To be perfectly honest, Robby was starting to feel like this whole thing was some kind of bizarre out of body experience. Or maybe that was just the emotional whiplash. Less than two hours ago he had been ready to throw down with Sam’s drunk douchebag boyfriend. But now... Now he didn’t know what he felt. 

The waves were lapping at their feet by the time Miguel spoke again. 

“Why are you still here?” He turned his intense gaze back on Robby, the night sky reflected in those stupidly pretty eyes. 

Robby shuffled uncomfortably. 

“I told you before - didn’t want your dumb ass to drown.”

Miguel waved a hand through the air, cutting him off. 

“Don’t give me that bullshit. We both know you have no reason to be here. You owe me shit-all. I’ve been nothing but a dick to you since we first met. Why didn’t you throw a punch as soon as you could? Kick me while I was down?”

“Kick you while... what kind of fucking asshole do you think I am?”

Miguel rolled his eyes. “That’s probably what I would’ve done. Eye for an eye. No mercy.”

Robby rolled back to stare at the stars, gazing intently as if they could somehow give him a way to respond to Miguel’s idiocy. However, as much as Miguel’s words made Robby want to throw himself into the ocean and just swim away from this conversation, they struck a chord with him. That blind anger was as familiar to him as his own face. He turned back to Miguel.

“I’ve spent a lot of time feeling really angry, and I’ve found it tends to wear away at you, eat you out from the inside. For a long time, I was angry at everything and everyone and it left me feeling so empty that I didn’t even know who I was anymore.” He could still remember what it felt like, that constant exhaustion that weighed on his shoulders after so many years of waging war on the world.  
“But... Without even meaning to, I found myself letting go of that anger. Learning to trust people again, letting people into my life. They say if you expect the worst from everyone you’ll never be disappointed, but I just find it leads to a lot of isolation and loneliness.”

He wasn’t even sure why he was telling Miguel all this, baring his soul so fully to a boy he’d only just met. But somehow it felt right. The words flowed freely from his lips in a way that they hadn’t in years. Robby was an expert liar. He could smile and charm his way through any situation, trick and manipulate people into doing whatever he wanted. But when it came to being truthful, he always froze up. It was like there was a obstruction in his chest which had been there for as long as he could remember. The words could never get past it, but somehow Miguel was breaking that down, that warm gaze unlocking some long forgotten part of Robby.

Miguel turned to him, the hush of the waves dripping off his silent form. “I lied before.” 

When Robby just stared, he ran a hand through his hair and continued. “About not being sorry. I shouldn’t have shoved you like I did, that was a dick move.”

Robby blinked in confusion. He couldn’t make sense of this kid. One second he was screaming and throwing punches, and the next he was star gazing and making awkward apologies.

“You didn’t deserve it,” Miguel continued. “I just - when I saw Sam with you I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do. So I lashed out like some kind of petty abusive fuck.”

Robby cocked his head. “Scared?”

Miguel looked pained.

“I know that Sam’s out of my league. Honestly I think the only reason she’s with me was because I beat up some guys who were harassing her. And then... there’s you. I don’t think you saw the way she was looking at you, but you’d think that you’d hung the goddamn moon. And dude, I get it. You’re gorgeous. And not the pretentious dick I thought you were originally.”

_Gorgeous._

Robby pulled himself upright, unable to meet Miguel’s intense gaze any longer. He stared out at he waves, desperately trying to ignore the sudden ache in his chest. He could feel his view of Miguel rapidly shifting. He had assumed Miguel to be more of the bullying type, but now without the drunk anger, Miguel seemed sort of lost and vulnerable. If anything, Mr LaRusso had taught him that people deserved second chances. Hell, he knew how it felt to not even be given that chance to redeem yourself. So many times he’d been written off as a delinquent, a waste of space. Maybe Miguel deserved the benefit of the doubt. He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of Miguel’s voice.

“I don’t want to lose Sam.” That vulnerable quaver was back, and Miguel was looking on the verge of a break down again. “I don’t have a lot of people who I care about me, I don’t want to lose her just because I was dumb and immature.”

Miguel’s face was crumpled in despair, his wide eyes reminding Robby of Bambi after his mother got shot. Jesus Christ. This kid was a mess. Pulling himself back up into a seated position, Miguel wobbled slightly before grabbing onto Robby’s arm for support. His hands were warm and calloused and Robby felt himself flush. What the fuck.

“She deserves someone better than me. Someone who isn’t a dickhead. Like… I tried to punch you and then you stayed and helped me after Sam left. You’re a much better person than I am. All noble and hero-y, like Hercules or some shit. She deserves someone like you.” Miguel’s drunken ramblings were broken off by a yawn, and his head dropped to rest on Robby’s shoulder. 

This was... weird. To say the least. And yet for some strange reason Robby wasn’t that opposed to it. Miguel had essentially just stated that his girlfriend would be better off with Robby, and yet all Robby could think about was the warmth of Miguel’s body pressed against his side. 

Completely oblivious to Robby’s internal crisis, Miguel had started to fall asleep. 

Robby took a shaky breath and nudged Miguel awake. He mumbled and stretched, before sitting up in excitement. 

“I know where I live!” He exclaimed, sounding very proud of himself.

“Congratulations” Robby grumbled, pulling himself to his feet. 

Miguel’s face fell. “I borrowed my mom’s car though. And I’m way too drunk to drive it. Fuck. She’s not gonna be able to get to work tomorrow and she’s going to kill me!”

Robby rolled his eyes. “You got the keys?”

Miguel held them out, his grin blinding. This guy may a nuisance, but god he was adorable.

He pulled Miguel to his feet, the action of which caused them to end up pressed much more closely together than intended. Robby felt Miguel’s warm breath on his cheek and tried desperately not to shiver.

“You have very pretty eyes,” Miguel whispered, leaning heavily against Robby.

This was it. This was how Robby would die. He could balance perfectly on an elevated log, but god forbid someone compliment him. He tried to think of an intelligent response while his brain went into complete shutdown. Smooth.

“Uh... thanks?”

Miguel chuckled softly and leaned forwards.

“You have a very pretty face too.”

And then, without warning, Miguel’s mouth was on his. His lips were soft and warm and all of a sudden it felt like someone had set fire to Robby’s insides. Fuck. While he was distracted, Miguel had threaded his hands through Robby’s hair, closing the last of the space between the two of them. He tilted his chin and did something with his tongue and Robby forgot how to function. He’d kissed girls before. Plenty of times. But it had never felt like this. He’d always just assumed kissing was just sort of wet and boring, but nobody told you that because it wasn’t romantic. But now. Now every nerve ending was on fire and he felt like he was about to die. 

He pulled away sharply, gasping for breath. He couldn’t do this. Not here, so close to what was left of the party. He was half afraid that Miguel would suddenly sober up and realise what he was doing and try to punch Robby all over again. Miguel whined at the lack of contact, and Robby hastily untangled himself from him. 

“C’mon,” he said, his voice coming out much more wrecked than he would have ever expected. “Time to get your drunk ass home.”

Miguel was quiet for most of the car ride, apart from initial directions, and Robby was half-convinced he’d fallen asleep. Meanwhile, Robby’s mind was whirling. He’d kissed a boy. And he’d liked it. (Oh god he sounded like a Katy Perry song). Problem was that said boy had a girlfriend and had been very drunk and probably wouldn’t even remember it. Robby wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad thing. He watched the amber glow of the street lamps illuminate Miguel’s face, trying to force down this strange curling warmth in his stomach. He had no right to feel this way about someone he barely knew. A _boy_ he barely knew. A boy who washed away his troubles in salt water. A boy whose wide eyes had reflected the constellations. A boy who had run his callused fingers through Robby’s hair and made him feel things he’d never felt before. _Fuck._

Vaguely out the window he registered Mr LaRusso’s face looking down at him from one of his billboards. Usually when he passed this same place on his board he’d laugh at the corny advertisement, but today he felt like pulling over and throwing something at it. If not for Mr LaRusso’s kindness he wouldn’t be in this stupid, confusing situation. 

God. 

How would he even be able to face Sam after all this? What do you say in that situation? _Thanks for abandoning me at some random beach, I ended up hooking up with your boyfriend who you may or may not have broken up with because of his drunken idiocy?_ This was a mess. He wondered what Miguel would think of this all when he woke up sober tomorrow morning. 

Miguel stirred when he parked outside the apartment building, mumbling sleepily. 

“Sam?” He peered up at Robby, a hopeful smile on his face.

When Robby was eight he got food poisoning, and had spent two whole days puking his guts out. He remembered thinking that there was no way he could feel sicker than he did then. Turns out he was wrong. He turned away from Miguel as nausea roiled through him, resting his head against the window and resisting the urge to scream. He couldn’t believe that in a few short hours he’d managed to fuck things up this badly. He regretted every life decision that had led him to this point in time. If he hadn’t been such an altruistic bastard he could be asleep in bed right now, not a worry on his mind. He certainly wasn’t going to be sleeping tonight.

It was only once he’d gotten Miguel inside that Robby allowed himself to properly freak out. He slumped down onto the kerb and buried his head in his hands, aching to hit something but unable to even find the energy to do so. Everything was on its head now. He’d started off his night crushing on Sam and hating her boyfriend and then somehow he’d ended up pressed up close against Miguel, smelling the salt on his skin and feeling the soft warmth of his mouth. He traced his fingertip across his lip, still feeling the lingering kiss burning there. The stars still stared down at him, their soft glow now seeming more mocking than comforting.

Shakily he stood and started to make his way back to his own apartment. 

Oh he was fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> There will probably be a part two whenever I'm next inspired (fingers crossed!). Check out my [tumblr](https://florentart.tumblr.com/) for more gay shit and the occasional bit of fan art!


End file.
